


Breaking Point

by itsallAvengers



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, It's 1am and Unbeta-d go gently bls..., M/M, Protective Steve Rogers, Psychological Torture, Steve Rogers Feels, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Torture, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-09 19:43:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17413082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsallAvengers/pseuds/itsallAvengers
Summary: They torture Tony to try and get information out of Steve





	Breaking Point

**Author's Note:**

> warnings for graphic scenes of torture, lots of pain, general tony whump all round

“I’m sorry,” Steve said for the hundredth time, knocking his forehead into Tony’s gently and shutting his eyes tight, “I’m so sorry, this is my fault, I should have-”

“-Steve,” Tony said gently, smiling at him through his bloody lip and black eye, “ _s’ not_ your fault. We’ve been through this-”

“-I underestimated them,” Steve hissed, cursing himself and every decision he’d made that night, “I told you not to bring the suit in case it drew attention, and so you didn’t, you trusted me and now we’re here.”

“I wouldn’t have listened if I hadn’t agreed it was the right course of action,” Tony explained, firm and calm as he leaned into Steve’s side. “It was a routine mission. We were only supposed to be scouting the place.”

Steve just huffed and then tilted his head back up, looking around the room yet again. They’d been there for an hour, maybe two- Steve wasn’t sure, seeing as he’d been unconscious for a while. Like Tony had said, it had only been a stupid regular mission: attend the ‘charity’ event, pick up the information, and get out without alerting suspicion. Both of them were wearing their suits- unfortunately, though, not the superhero kind. Because Steve, like a fucking idiot, had told Tony to leave it behind so they could keep their cover. 

Now look where they were. Stuck in a basement, hands shackled behind their backs with a compound that not even Steve could break out of. Maybe it was vibranium. Not that it mattered. And there was something around both of their necks, too. Like a fucking collar. Metal and thick, and weighing Steve’s head down. Tony had tried to inspect it, but with his hands behind his back, nothing much aside from a cursory once-over had been done. 

Point was, they’d been taken- both of them knocked clean out on the way out of the building. Steve hadn’t even heard them coming. And whatever they’d used to sedate him was powerful stuff. Steve had a feeling that whoever these people were, they weren’t just anybody. They were people with a plan, with resources, and with an agenda in mind. 

And he’d gone and dragged Tony down right into their hands. 

He swallowed and shuffled, moving in closer to the smaller man. With his hands being tied, he couldn’t exactly embrace him; but he gently nudged Tony’s body with his own, rubbing up against him and dropping his cheek into Tony’s hair as the other man leaned into him. “We’re gonna be okay,” Tony murmured, “the team will find us.”

Steve could only nod. Right now, they didn’t have many other options. “Yeah,” he said softly, “I’m sure they w-”

It was in that moment that he heard saw a blinding flash erupt in the room, following by an agonizingly pitched noise that sent Steve curling in on himself violently, eyes slamming shut as he pushed himself away from the source of the light- Tony’s collar. His shoulder hit the floor with a heavy thump and he groaned, seeing the light burst in even through his shut eyes. 

 _Stun tactics,_  his mind threw up at him. His enhanced hearing, even through the deafening high-pitched screech, picked up Tony’s own whimpers of distress, and he figured his own collar must have emitted exactly the same pulse.

God, all he could hear was ringing. He could hardly see shit, stars were exploding everywhere he looked.

Somewhere, distantly, he heard the sound of a door slamming open.

 _React,_ he told himself as he rolled on the floor,  _react, react react._

He hissed and then wrenched his eyes open, making out blurry figures as they marched into the cell. Ignoring the agonising banging that had started up in his head, he pushed his body up off the floor and reached out a hand, trying to find Tony and give him some cover. Except before he could, there was another spiking pain that emanated from his neck, and his body crumbled like paper as it consumed him. He felt himself cry out as he went down again, and then a dull prodding sensation, like someone was pushing him.

The pain was almost intolerable. Steve wasn’t sure he’d ever felt anything quite like it. Like everything- every muscle, every bone, every fiber and cell in his body was crying out at once.

When it finally faded, the room had shifted. 

He looked up off the floor, eyes locking on the right side of the room. Most of the men were there, although Steve could feel the presence of a few behind him, too. 

More importantly- Tony was there, too. Lying at the feet of the man in charge, still obviously reeling from the stun mechanism that had gone off. They must have dragged him there in the chaos. 

Steve growled, eyes going up to look at the faces of his captors. Unfamiliar. Dressed in black army uniforms, all holding semi-automatics. The leader was empty-handed, though. Only holding his phone. 

“Good evening, Captain Rogers,” he said, and Steve lurched forward to stand, but felt a yanking around his neck and tumbled back to his ass again. There were chuckles around the room as he turned around and looked at what was holding him; saw the cord of metal that led from the back of his neck to a grate on the floor. 

They’d put him on a fucking leash while he’d been stunned.

Across the room, Tony breathed out heavily and then rubbed his eyes, finally looking up. When he saw what was surrounding him, Steve saw the way his shoulders tensed, his focus flew around the room, before settling in relief on Steve. _You’re okay,_ his eyes said,  _you’re okay,_   _thank God, you’re still here with me._

Steve looked back at him, feeling his heart start to beat a mile a minute. Tony was in danger. They had him, not Steve- no, Steve was on the other side of the room. Spectator’s seat. 

Oh God.

“I’m not going to beat around the bush, Captain,” The man said airily, waving a hand, “not going to give you a dramatic monologue that’ll give me away or waste any time trying to get you to understand me. I’m only here for one thing.”

“Well, if it’s a sex party, then I’m just gonna say right now, I’m out,” Tony spoke up breezily with a small nod, and then Steve heard the sickening crunch of boot against jaw as the man slammed his heel into Tony’s face. Steve lurched forward again, once more feeling the harsh tug against his neck that kept him in place. Tony rolled onto his shoulder and sat up slowly, spitting blood. “Asshole,” he muttered.

Their captor had lost interest in Tony by that point, though, and had stepped forward, moving toward Steve. He smiled, and Steve bared his teeth back at him. 

“I want a list of all the SHIELD safehouses that are occupied right now,” he said simply, “and I want it quickly, or I’m going to put him through hell.”

The man pointed backward, and Steve saw out of the corner of his eye as Tony looked up in fear. Steve didn’t let his eyes slip off the person standing above him. “Don’t you dare,” he hissed, his eyes like ice and his hands clenched tightly behind his back.

There was a laugh, and Steve watched him press his thumb onto a button on his phone.

And then Tony started screaming. 

Steve’s gaze whiplashed, eyes going wide with terror as he watched Tony buckle and fall back to the floor, hard. His whole body went taught like a rope, back bent so horrifically that only his feet and head were even touching the floor, and then a second later he convulsed and shuddered, knees jerking up and putting him into fetal position. All the while, the screams didn’t stop. 

And Steve… Steve had watched Tony go through hell and back without sounding that agonized. He’d watched Tony sew himself back up, watched his bones break, watched people drive sharp blades through him without him making that much noise. Tony did not show his pain. Ever. To anyone. 

Steve wrenched at his hands, trying desperately to break the chains as he ground his teeth so hard he thought they might break. He couldn’t take his eyes off his lover and the way he was spasming on the floor, the sounds of true agony ripping their way out of his throat.

 _“Stop it,”_  Steve snarled, and his throat hurt but only distantly, he couldn’t focus on anything else apart from what he was seeing, “Stop it, stop hurting him, please, stop.”

And a second later, surprisingly, it did.

Steve watched Tony got slack suddenly, limbs falling to the floor. His eyes rolled, struggling to keep themselves open as he breathed wheezily. He was sweating, his tux creased and dirty from the floor’s dust. 

Steve watched him helplessly, feeling a second away from throwing up the contents of his stomach. 

He couldn’t reveal where the safehouses were. He  _knew_ them, for sure- every last one, thanks to his eidetic memory. But there were agents in there. Families. All of them unaware, their guards down, thinking they were safe from harm. If Steve revealed them, they’d be slaughtered. He knew it. 

He couldn’t tell them. He  _couldn’t_ tell them.

“Here’s the deal,” the man said, and Steve pulled his eyes away from Tony, staring upward with a look of pure vitriol on his face. He was going to tear this fucker limb from limb. “Those little devices around your necks? They’re wired into your central nervous system. Clever little things- they can activate every single pain receptor in your body if they want. I’m not doing that one just yet, though. Saving the best ‘til last for Mr. Stark, after all.”

Limb from limb. He’d make that man scream the way he’d just made Tony. 

Almost as if he could sense Steve’s train of thought, the man grinned, walking backward and then setting his eyes on the only body that was on the floor. Steve snarled again. “Don’t go near him _, don’t fucking touch-”_

The man ignored him, crouching to his haunches and then curling his hand almost delicately into Tony’s hair. Tony stilled on the floor, eyes refocusing as he breathed in and tried to pull his weak body away. But the hand in his hair clamped down, kept him still. Steve felt like he wasn’t even breathing; saying words he couldn’t even control, the same ones, _‘don’t touch him, leave him alone, get your fucking hands off him’_

“He’s a pretty little thing, isn’t he,” the man muttered almost to himself, before looking over at Steve with a shark smile, “I can see why you like him. It’d be such a shame to ruin it, don’t you think?”

Steve forced himself to stay calm. He could kill the bastard later- for now, he needed to try and keep focused. It was the only way he’d be able to get Tony safe. “You realise you aren’t the first person to try and play this game with one of us before,” he growled, shuffling backwards a little and feeling the metal cord slacken against his neck, allowing him to breathe. “You won’t be the last, either. But you most certainly won’t win.”

The man smiled again. He dropped his hand from Tony’s hair, letting it trail softly across his shoulder before standing once more and making a gesture to the guards behind him. Wordlessly, they leaned down and picked Tony up by the shoulders, lifting him upward and then pulling him forward roughly. Tony’s head rolled- Jesus Christ, the collar had been active for about fifteen seconds, and the man was already nearly unconscious- and he pushed weakly in their grip, but he was no match. Steve kept his eyes fixed like steel on Tony as he was brought forward, closer and closer until he was about six feet away. 

Then they dropped him, and Tony fell to his knees, wobbling precariously but somehow managing to keep his balance and stay off the floor. He looked up weakly at Steve. Then he smiled. “Don’t tell them,” he whispered, “you know y…you can’t.”

Steve didn’t say anything. Wasn’t sure that he could make that promise. But Tony looked deeply at him, his back straightening and gaze turning harder, more coherent as he saw Steve’s hesitation.

“Promise, Steve,” he whispered, “ _promise me_.”

Their assailant was moving again, his mouth opening. Steve chose to turn and face him instead of answering, and ignored Tony’s pleading ‘Steve’. He wasn’t going to make the man a promise he wasn’t sure he could keep. 

And to keep Tony safe, Steve knew, deep down, that he’d do just about anything.

“thirty seconds under that collar, and Stark will fall unconscious. Luckily, we’ve got a dose of adrenaline ready to pump its way into his system, just so he gets to stay awake for the show,” the man explained, wandering closer to Tony. “a minute, and permanent nerve damage is likely to be achieved. Tell me, Captain- how does an engineer work with a pair of shaky hands?”

Steve watched Tony’s eyes widen and his face lose whatever remaining colour it had in it. Steve himself felt like there was a noose around his neck, getting tighter and tighter with every passing word.

Tony’s hands were his life.

Steve couldn’t tell them. He couldn’t tell them. He couldn’t-

“one and a half minutes’ worth of collar activation, and the heart will go into cardiac arrest. Mr. Stark will die on this floor, surrounded by me and my people as we laugh at him. We will keep him  _just_ out of reach from you, and no matter how hard you strain against that cord, you will not be close enough to hold him as he dies.” 

Steve was shaking, he was shaking all over and he knew it- it was physical torture for Tony, but psychological torture for Steve, and no matter how many bags he punched or how many pain-tests he endured, there was no way you could train against hearing something like that.

He couldn’t tell them.

But he couldn’t let Tony die. 

“Do you understand what I am saying, Captain Rogers?” The man whispered gently, lifting the phone once again. Steve jerked forward on autopilot, and was, once more, immediately yanked back by the unwavering cord. “We are not the ones playing your game.  _You_ are the ones playing  _ours_.”

The man paused, before shrugging his shoulders. “So, what’ll it be? You want to tell us?”

Tony shook his head at Steve. “Don’t you dare,” he said, his voice cracked and throaty.

Steve looked at him, feeling his mouth purse into an impossibly thin line. His nails were cutting into his hands and he felt blood slipping down his fingers.

 _There are families in those homes,_  he told himself desperately,  _children, You’re a hero. You can’t do this._

 _I can for Tony,_ the other part of him vowed, _I would._

_And he would never forgive you for it_

He shut his eyes for a second, taking a deep breath before reopening and settling them back on his lover. “No,” he declared, feeling the word like a sickening betrayal in his own mouth. He didn’t take his eyes off Tony. Tony at least deserved to be looked at by the man condemning him.

But Steve saw no bitterness in his lover’s eyes. Only a small, tired smile. “Thank you,” he said. 

When Tony started screaming again three seconds later, all that Steve could think of was how badly he’d failed him. 

He watched, petrified in his own emotional agony as Tony cried out, seized, whimpered and screamed in front of him. The man responsible was laughing; his own gaze on Steve. “Unlock their cuffs,” he said in delight, clapping his hands, “I want to watch them both struggle.”

Steve choked, his airways tight, cut off by his own exertion. “It’s okay,” he babbled uselessly, “it’s okay, sweetheart, you’re going to be okay, I’m so sorry, I’m so s _o so sorry,_  please, you’re going to be okay.” He felt a loosening around his hands and then they were free- he yanked them forward, trying to reach out for Tony, but he couldn’t bridge the gap. He was an inch off. 

 _You will not be close enough to hold him as he dies_.

“Stop,” he cried, feeling the tears slip off his cheeks, feeling his head go fuzzy at the lack of oxygen he was taking in, “please, I’m begging you, stop, do it to me, let him go and I’ll tell you whatever you want, please.”

“No,” was the only response he got, and he whimpered in defeat, straining desperately to try and touch Tony, give him something,  _anything_ in comfort. But the cord wouldn’t budge. 

And still, Tony shuddered. Like a puppet on a string being pulled this way and that, not even in control of his own body. His hands, free now, scratched desperately at the cold floors, looking for anything he could use to ground himself. For a few seconds he clamped his mouth shut and the cries stopped, and at the same moment Steve slumped, suddenly too close to unconsciousness. He’d been pulling against the cord on his neck for so long, he wasn’t sure he’d even been able to breathe in a good few minutes. 

His head hit the floor and he looked at Tony, staring up at the ceiling as he bit down on his lip so hard that blood blossomed and seeped down his chin. Steve whimpered, stretching a hand out across the floor- but a second later Tony shut his eyes, unable to hold back the next scream that tore its way out of his throat. 

They were killing him. Oh God, they were killing him. 

Then the man pressed his button, and a moment later Tony slumped once more. This time, he didn’t get back up. 

“Check him,” Steve heard vaguely from above him, “if he’s unconscious, dose him. If he’s not quite, we can go for a few more seconds.”

Steve had done this to him. Steve was responsible. For all of it. He was going to get Tony killed.

_You can’t. You can’t. You can’t do that. He cannot die. He will not die._

“He’s out, sir,” a man said, leaning down and turning Tony’s face upward. Steve growled and lurched forward, spinning out his leg and catching the man’s ankle. He’d gotten too close. Steve watched him fall, and then drove his heel into the man’s temple, cracking his skull.

That guard didn’t get up either.

To the left of him, he heard a whistle. “I did warn ‘em all,” the man in charge said lightly, “anyway. Someone dose him- and please, don’t get close to Stark’s guard dog. I don’t wanna lose more staff. It’ll take him a second to wake back up, so I want you all out of here with me. I’m getting a cup of coffee.”

Steve could only watch blearily as more guards walked forward, careful this time as they injected the adrenaline shot into Tony’s neck. A few others carefully picked up the dead guard and then pulled him out of the room, and twenty seconds later Steve and Tony were alone in the cell once more. 

Steve wanted to feel him. He couldn’t reach. 

He had to get out.

Ignoring every primal instinct that insisted he stay as close to Tony’s unconscious body as possible, Steve looked behind him and then scrabbled back, over to where the cord attached to his neck met the grate. The cord itself was made of something unbreakable- Steve knew, because otherwise it would definitely have been broken by now. 

He needed to the think. But he couldn’t. His mind… it was fuzzy. Slow. Numb around the edges. Maybe it was the oxygen deprivation, maybe something else, but nothing came to his mind. 

“St’ve?”

He bolted around so fast that his muscles screamed at him, eyes locking onto Tony’s as he scrabbled forward. “Sweetheart,” he whispered, getting as far as he could before the cord yanked taught, “hey, it’s okay. I’m here. I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry.”

Tony’s eyes were only half open, his body not even trying to move. “It hurts,” he whimpered, his voice too broken to even sound like anything close to normal. He was in a bad, bad way. “St’ve, hurts, I- I want it to stop, I want… Can’t…”

The words were like knives. Worse than knives. They made Steve feel like someone had just taken a baseball bat to his sternum and smashed. “Hey,” he rasped, hand stretching out until his fingertips were an inch from Tony’s. He could feel the tears slipping down his cheeks, almost uncontrollable hitching sobs that racked through his shoulders, “hey, it’s okay. You’re gonna- you’re gonna be fine. Reach out your hand, sweetheart, please, let me feel you. We’re gonna be fine.”

Tony’s face was twisted in pain, gray and ashen and his eyes completely spaced out. Steve wasn’t even sure Tony was even coherent any more. 

“Please,” he pleaded again, flexing his fingers, “please reach out your hand, sweetheart. Come on.”

Tony swallowed. Sweat dripped down his forehead. There was blood all over his face from where he’d ruined his lip. 

His fingers twitched, moving ever so slightly across the floor. If Steve could  _just_ get a grip, he could pull Tony in, hold him tight, wrench that fucking thing off his neck. He could see that Tony’s shoulder was dislocated; pulled out of place from his own writhing. 

Tony moved again, just the tiniest fraction- and Steve felt their fingertips touch. He smiled wetly “Come on, that’s it, just a little further, I’ve got y-”

Tony bucked wildly, body losing control once more. His hand span out of reach and Steve heard himself sob in despair, unable to do anything other than watch as once more, Tony was put through hell. “No,” he whispered, face crumbling, forehead hitting the cold stone, “please, please stop hurting him.”

“Then tell me what I want,” the man said from behind him, walking back into the scene with a coffee in his hand. He smiled down at Steve and then made a face at Tony. “ _God_ , he’s loud, isn’t he? Is he like this in bed? I think I’d have to kill him if he made this much fucking noise.”

Steve cried. Tony was screaming, louder than ever, oh God, they were going to ruin his hands. His beautiful amazing hands. Steve was going to do that to him. 

No. 

No, God, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t be Captain America. He wouldn’t, not if it meant Tony got hurt. That was the truth of it all, at the end of the day. He could preach and push morality however much he wanted, but it didn’t mean jack shit. Not really.

He’d let the world burn to keep one man warm.

“I’ll tell you,” he gasped, coughing on his own bile, “please, I’ll tell you, stop hurting him. Stop. Please. Anything you want.”

He hung his head, tears dripping off his nose. A moment later, the screams of the man he loved died off again. Tony sprawled out on the floor, gasping, stuttering, head rolling, looking to Steve,  _“No-”_

“Anything,” Steve repeated hoarsely, nodding his head, “just let him go. Please.”

Across the room, the scumbag chuckled. “God, what a triumphant feeling, having Captain America on his knees, begging me for mercy. Isn’t  _that_ a plot twist, hm?”

Steve looked up at him through his blurry vision, hearing Tony whisper his name desperately, weakly from the side. 

He couldn’t be the man that Tony wanted him to be. He refused. Captain America; heroism, all that bullshit- it didn’t mean anything, not in comparison to the person laying half-dead three meters away from him.

Steve turned and looked over at Tony, who was shaking his head weakly, voice slurred, almost incoherent, but pleading all the same.  _Don’t do it._

He dragged his eyes away and turned back to the man standing in front of him, and he opened his mouth.

 

And then a second later, all hell broke loose.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Steve?” someone said, and it sounded like Natasha, he could see it in the sweep of red that clouded his vision, the sharp grip her hand made on his arm. They were moving, the floor vibrating- Quinjet, although Steve couldn’t quite remember how they’d gotten there. There had been explosions. Yelling. Steve remembers the collar getting disengaged, and then finding the man who’d hurt Tony and punching his face until there was no way to even tell who he had used to be, or what he had used to look like. But that was all. Everything else was just… blurry. “Steve, you have to let go of him- we can’t help him if you don’t let go.”

He wasn’t letting go. No. He couldn’t, he’d just gotten him, he couldn’t let go now, no way. He smacked the hand off his shoulder and then looked back down at Tony, his grayscale face, weak limbs, bloody mouth. “I’ve got you,” he whispered throatily, shaking fingers pushing the hair from Tony’s face, “I’ve got you, it’s my fault, I’m sorry-”

“Steve, _let go.”_

No. No, he wasn’t going to fucking let go, he didn’t care what they were saying, he  _couldn’t_ , he couldn’t let g-

-Then there was just darkness

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

In the end, it didn’t actually take that long for Tony to recover.

 

 Four days before he was able to leave hospital, in total. Pretty good for a round of torture. And Bruce said that he’d make a full recovery, which was good. Had the Avengers arrived any later, and that might not have been the case. Steve was so grateful for that. 

He spent those four days keeping watch around the hospital. There wasn’t really any time to talk to Tony- not when he was spending full time on patrol. But he would. Once Tony was out and healthy again, and Steve didn’t have to worry about stressing him out unduly, they could talk. 

For now though, Steve just had to keep guard. 

He was unscathed. Bruising around his throat, a weird hangover from the huge amounts of drugs that he’d been pumped with in order to keep him as placid as possible, and a slight bump on his head from where Thor had had to knock him out with his hammer so they could move Tony to the medbay, but that was it really. They hadn’t picked him to be hurt, after all. But anyway- it meant that Steve was at full capacity. And when he was at full capacity, he didn’t need to sleep. 

So he wasn’t. 

And it was fine. When they got home, back to the tower, and he could curl up with Tony, it’d be okay again. But until then, Steve just… had better things to do. Like hunting down every living branch of the organisation that had orchestrated this and then destroying it, methodically and with extreme prejudice. Except when they finally did get to arrive back to the tower, Steve suddenly felt an intense urge to go down to the gym and just stay there for twenty-four hours. He needed to make his training routine better. The other one had been shoddy, hadn’t prepared him efficiently. That was why they’d been caught out. 

So he did that. And he still hadn’t spoken to Tony, but he was sure the man was doing fine. He asked JARVIS every two minutes, after all, and the AI wouldn’t lie to him.

He was doing okay. Yeah, so every time he closed his eyes or caught himself in a moment of quiet, he could hear Tony screaming his name in complete gut-wrenching anguish, grasping desperately for Steve and being unable to actually reach him, but it was okay. Steve was doing okay. He just wasn’t thinking about it.

He wasn’t thinking about the fact that he could have stopped it from ever happening. The fact that he’d been the one to agree to Tony’s torture.

It was okay. It… it was fine. 

“Steve.”

He stopped instantly, the voice registering right at the very front of his brain. When his fists stopped working it, the bag flew back and hit him, sending him stumbling back a few steps. He placed his hand on it steadyingly. 

“Hey Tony,” he said casually, keeping his eyes on the bag, “are you okay?”

“No.”

Steve’s stomach dropped and he twisted around. Injury, relapse, after-effects, whatever it was, he had to make sure that Tony was-

“-why haven’t you spoken to me since we got taken,” Tony asked him, his voice low. It was still a little hoarse- Bruce had said he’d damaged his vocal chords quite badly, and it would be a while before they were back at full capacity again.

Steve stared at Tony numbly. “I’ve been busy-”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

 

God. Tony knew him  _uncannily_ well.

 

Steve blinked, jaw hardening as he looked away. “Yeah,” he said in agreement, trying to make his voice sound mild, “yeah, I know.”

“No, you don’t, otherwise this would not be happening right now,” Tony told him calmly, and Steve heard him step forward. He took a step backward, and Tony stilled. 

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Tony’s voice went softer, more vulnerable. Steve didn’t even want to look at him. He’d break. He’d break, and he had been fine for… ever since they’d gotten out of that hellhole, he’d been keeping it under control, he  _couldn’t_ lose that now.

“Nothing,” Steve said, turning around, “I’m thinking I should be training and you should be resting. Please, Tony- go up to bed. I’ll come up soon.”

“I’m not leaving,” Tony said, “not without you with me. You know, it’s kind of fucked with me majorly, not being able to even see you for like five days. That traumatised part of my brain keeps telling me it’s because they killed you and I just haven’t processed it yet.” 

Steve flinched. “I’m fine,” he said softly, hating himself even more, which in itself was quite the achievement, “I’m sorry. I didn’t think about that.”

Rather than say something snippy back, Tony shrugged. “I think you’ve got quite a lot of things on your mind right now, Steve. I’m not surprised you didn’t. But now I think we should talk about them.”

“There isn’t anything that we need t-”

“YOU WATCHED ME GET  _TORTURED_ , STEVE _, OF COURSE THERE IS SOMETHING WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT!”_  The sound of Tony’s throaty yell made Steve jump in shock, and he turned to look at the other man rapidly. Like a switch had been flipped in a nanosecond, Tony was no longer composed. He was shaking, eyes wide, breathing ragged. His hands were clenched by his sides tight enough it was making his knuckles go white.

Steve just stared. He couldn’t think about it. He couldn’t. It would drive him insane. 

It had been his fault. All his fault. Tony had nearly died and Steve would have watched and known, known it was all on him, he’d killed the person he loved more than anything else in the universe because he’d been too fucking stupid to do anything else except watch, and God, what sort of man was he for that? What sort of man was he for what he’d  _almost_ done- for the answers he’d almost given, having folded under the torture, anything to stop Tony’s pain-

“Steve, love, just breathe,” Tony said soothingly in his ear, and fuck, why was Steve on the floor- “just breathe with me, sweetheart, in and out, you’re okay, it’s done, everything is fine-”

“I nearly killed you,” Steve wheezed, head falling into his hands and fingers wrapping tight into his hair, “I heard- I can’t stop thinking about the way you were screaming, Tony, and it was my… it was me, I did-”

“No, you didn’t,” Tony told him, curling into Steve’s side and wrapping his arms around Steve’s shoulders, “you did nothing of the sort. It was my choice. It was my choice, because I agreed to go on the mission. I agreed to be a superhero. I knew everything that would come with it. And I told you to let them do it. We had to keep those people safe.”

“I failed anyway,” Steve said, realising he was damn near hysterical. The dam had truly broken now. “I was going to tell them. To stop them hurting you. I would have let all those people die. I would have done it, Tony, I would have, I- I don’t, I would-”

“Hey, hey, shhhhh,” Tony, having sensed Steve was spiralling fast, placed a finger gently to his lips and rocked him back and forth, “I know. I know this is horrible. I get it. I’m sorry. I’m sorry you were put in that position, I’m sorry you had to watch me hurting. If… I think if our situations had been reversed, I wouldn’t have been as strong as you. I think I would have caved earlier.” Tony’s thumbs pressed into the back of Steve’s palms, pulling them away from his face. When Steve looked at him, Tony was smiling sadly. “I had one vision of you dying and nearly destroyed the world with a robot designed to prevent that. We’re heroes. But we’re not perfect. We fall down, we think with our hearts instead of our heads.” 

He leaned in, knocking their foreheads together softly. Steve shuddered, his own hands curling around Tony’s, holding onto him for dear life. Breathed the other man in. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” Tony said again, soft as a feather, “I will  _never_ blame you. Do you understand me, Steve?”

No. No he didn’t- Tony shouldn’t be forgiving him. Steve didn’t deserve that. 

But he’d gotten it anyway, apparently.

“I didn’t visit because I was scared,” Steve blurted shakily, pulling Tony’s hand up to his mouth and kissing him desperately, “I thought you were going to be angry, I didn’t- I wasn’t sure I could handle it, I’m sorry, I’m… for everything, for what I did, for how I dealt with it, for letting you go through that, for not keeping you safe-”

“Not your fault,” Tony murmured, leaning forward and kissing his brow-bone, “don’t blame you, never. I’m here now. I’m safe.”

Steve felt his face crumble, and his hand squeezed around Tony’s as he buried his head into the other man’s shoulder and felt himself fall apart, the sobs hitching with every breath. “I’m sorry,” he muttered over and over again, “please don’t go, let me hold you, they said- they wouldn’t let me touch you, I don’t… I couldn’t, I tried, but-”

Tony’s fingers settled at the back of Steve’s neck, stroking softly, and the actions cut his words off. He was so tired. He wanted to rest, but he was terrified of what he’d see when he did. What he’d hear, over and over again. 

As if able to sense his train of thought, Tony pressed a kiss into his hair and huffed. “We will both have a few sleepless nights to come, I think,” he said simply, “but it will be much worse if we are alone for them. Please. Come up to bed, Steve.”

Steve blinked, pulling his head up and looking at Tony. “I don’t want to replay it all over again,” he whispered quietly, “I don’t, I can’t, Tony.”

Tony paused, thinking it over. Then he stroked Steve’s hair out of his eyes and smiled. “We’ll put the Midnight Feast protocols on. Soon as your heart rate starts spiking, JARVIS’ll wake you up. Sound okay?”

Steve swallowed. He hated the fact he was the one being comforted by Tony, when it had been Tony who’d gone through that hell. He felt pathetic and weak, like a failure. 

But Tony seemed not to care. And Steve… God, Steve was just too tired to care for him.

He nodded, wiping his face of wetness and sniffing. “Kay,” he said softly, “let’s… yeah.”

Tony’s lip was still bruised from where he’d cut into it with his own teeth, but it didn’t stop him from planting them against Steve’s gently. “We’ll be okay,” he said, “we’ll be close together. I’ll be there if ever you need to find me.”

He remembered the sensation of his limbs stretching to breaking point, desperate to just try and get his fingers close enough to touch Tony in that cell. 

But they weren’t there. Not any more. 

He reached up and cupped his hand around Tony’s face, just to check. Tony leaned into the touch and shut his eyes. He was tired, clearly. Still healing. They both were.

“Let’s go to bed,” he whispered with a nod, getting unsteadily to his feet. 

In his hand, Tony’s fingers were a steady weight against his own.


End file.
